


The Fools Who Dream

by waterpots



Category: Oh My Girl (Band)
Genre: AU, F/F, idk rly what to call this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9157984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterpots/pseuds/waterpots
Summary: Jiho would rather be left alone after everything, but Yoobin has other hopes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [5/30/17] HELLO!! oh my girl fic exchange!! https://ohmygirlexchange.dreamwidth.org/6570.html  
> Welcome aboard

Apartment 219 was a quiet place. Once, years ago, it was bustling full of life. There was a time the fridge barely knew how it felt to be closed and the television was constantly flickering from channel to channel. There used to be chairs and tables and cups always located somewhere, especially where you didn’t want them. Every room was filled to the brim with things, things that meant a life was being lived there. The lights used to stay on well into four in the morning every night, only being shut off when the sun was coming out or the electricity bill was about to become too much. There was a time when dust was never a possibility because there was no spot in any of the rooms that remained untouched for longer than a day. Life left Apartment 219 without a second thought or care. 

The keys falling into the trinket dish are deafening. The entrance-way is the only thing that maintains signs of life in away way like it used to, but even then a single coat on a rack designed for many, a single pair of shoes thrown into a pile belonging to one person is a far cry from what it once was. The refrigerator contains salads and not much else, not in an attempt at healthy living, but rather because they don’t require the use of a piece of technology as simple as a microwave to make. There is no time for microwaves.

She ate the salads standing up, when she felt like celebrating she would get onions or cucumbers to mix into whatever type of lettuce she’d decided to eat that day. She stood while eating, because it was the fastest way to eat: at the counter, staring at the concrete wall of the apartment. It used to be painted and beautiful, but the paint chipped a while until she peeled the rest of it off, unable to repaint but unable to stare at what was once there. Every day was the same, watching the wall until the salad was gone or so unappetizing that she threw the rest of it out. Then she fell asleep, ready to face the same tomorrow.

There are irregularities in her life, few and far between and rare and unwanted. The knock on the door was one of them. People rarely went to her apartment, except to preach religion or sell her some weird gadgets or face products she didn’t want. She left it alone, ignoring it so it would just go away, but it knocked again, louder and more forcefully.

The door creaked now, which it didn’t years ago. She didn’t bother to fix it; creaky doors mean nothing. The girl on the other side of the door, with hair down to her shoulders, had an awkward smile on her face.

“Hey-” She slammed the door shut, quickly moving the lock. Maybe someday, but not today, she decided and returned to her salad, to forget the whole of what she just had to see. The girl knocked again, but she purposely ignored it now, taking large bites of her salad, trying to finish quickly.

She had expected the girl to knock for a few more minutes and when the sound finally gave up she assumed the girl had given up and left. She didn’t expect to hear the sound of the door unlocking and being pushed open.

“I was worried you’d changed the locks,” the girl said, glancing around rooms until she found her.

“I locked the door for a reason,” she said, staring at the salad, not the girl.

“Are you really eating a salad, standing in the middle of the kitchen, still dressed in your work suit?”

“Why are you here?”

“We need to talk,” the girl said, taking an uncomfortable step forward. Her eyes glanced around the place quickly, in a flighty manner that was uncharacteristic of the girl she used to know. “The place looks different.”

“You don’t live here any more,” she answered simply.

“I just- I didn’t expect-” the girl stared at the wall of concrete. “You got rid of the paint.”

“We both couldn’t bear to look at it. I finally did something about not being able to stand in this room.” The girl looked at her, eyes betraying some expression of pity that she couldn’t stand seeing. “Yoobin, we agreed when you moved out we’d leave everything behind.”

“It’s about that, we need to talk about-”

“Leave,” she said. Yoobin’s eyes were searching, pleading, begging for her to stop and listen. She couldn’t stand it. “Get out. We had an agreement. Get out.”

Yoobin sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly in defeat. “I was hoping catching you at the end of the day would mean you were too tired to put up your reserve.” Yoobin turned to leave, and she watched Yoobin, not moving from her spot. “We can’t run from this,” Yoobin said, standing in the entrance to the kitchen. “You can’t run from this anymore.”

She watched her salad until she heard the sound of Yoobin closing the door. She returned to her salad, eating slow, quiet bites, trying to pretend she was savoring every last bit of lettuce. If she cared that much about what she was eating it would have been so disgusting she would have gagged, but she didn’t care. She ate slowly, dumping half the salad into the trash, flicking off the kitchen lights, making her way to bed, sleeping restlessly, feigning normality over a shaken mind.

* * *

_ “Lighten up a little bit, it’s just a photo,” Yoobin said, slapping her in the arm.  _

_ “Every part of taking a photo with you is the worst part,” she said, grimacing on the couch.  _

_ “Yeah yeah, but my parents are on and on about how amazing my roommate is from my descriptions,” Yoobin was pinching her cheek, practically cooing the words her parents said back to her. “But they’ve never seen one, not one, photo of this sweetheart.” _

_ “Why the Hell would your parents describe me as a sweetheart?” _

_ “Because,” a third voice called from the hallway down to the bedrooms. “That’s what you are.” _

_ “I want both of you to go to hell where you belong!” She shouted, more down the hallway than to Yoobin.  _

_ “Just shut up and smile so my mom can know that I’m okay and you’re not someone terrible,” Yoobin said, tugging slightly on her arm so she turned. Yoobin held up her phone, and she finally relented, smiling into the camera and leaning towards Yoobin. _

_ “Wow look,” Yoobin said after they finished taking the photos and she was looking through them. “You actually look kind of cute in this one.” Yoobin moved faster than she could hit, and it wasn’t long until she couldn’t reach Yoobin, who had locked herself in her bedroom, laughing madly the whole time. _

* * *

She worked in the law section of some company, it was irrelevant to her which one it was. It wasn’t the ideal job, in fact at another time she would have called it quite abhorrent, but some jobs pay the bills and some don’t. She wasn’t expecting to have a knack for the corporate ladder, but she had a knack for her job, and that was enough. Coworkers were coworkers. They provided the sort of social interaction she needed each day, but she never saw them outside work except when they went to the pub down the street to drink and complain about their boss. She was fine.

They had recently been called on to put together data on a potentially big human rights case that was trying to be raised against the company, something about illegally outsourced work, probably some thrown in bit about child labor just to really pack a punch. The thing was they were totally guilty, but the lawyer overseeing the project had a knack for overwhelmingly damning cases getting dismissed. 

She just had to go through files. Find who was hired for jobs and where and what they did. Jobs would be outsourced to companies who outsourced it to other companies, who got people to do it in other countries for pennies a day. The sooner their company wasn’t making decisions, the less damning it was (or that’s what her boss said, she thought. Her job was data retrieval, not analysis). She would eat lunch at her desk with her two coworkers. All their desks were pushed together because that’s how the company worked; she didn’t have much of a choice and she didn’t really care. 

Her coworkers ate salad, in that sort of faux-healthy way where they pretended they didn’t buy burgers and fries with extra fat on them when they went home. She’d stopped making judgments on that sort of behavior, but it was easy to notice. She usually sat quietly; one of her coworkers was on and on about some guy she was seeing while the other nodded too enthusiastically for a conversation between coworkers over lunch break. 

The elevator door opened and she should have smelled trouble before it hit. Trouble smelled nice, like a familiar perfume she wished she never remembered. “Someone’s here to see you,” someone said, not really specifying to any of the three of them, before moving past to get down a hallway. 

“Will you listen to me now?” Yoobin was like this, incessant and overwhelming when it was convenient for her. She wasn’t ready. One of her coworkers said something about the bathroom, the other quickly following suit. She turned to look at Yoobin again, giving a death glare.

“I told you to leave,” she said. “There’s nothing we can do, we both agreed.”

“No, that’s not it. There’s still-”

“We know she left. They all left. It’s been years now. Yoobin, it’s over.”

“Would you-”

“I don’t know what you want,” Jiho was irritated. “To remind me? Do you think I’ve forgotten? I think about it every day. Christ, every time I close my eyes I have to remember everything. I’d do anything not to but-”

“Jiho.” She doesn’t find herself very good at reading people, she’s rather obtuse and difficult, but there’s something in Binnie’s eyes she can immediately place. A deep understanding and a hope she never expected to see. “She’s alive. I think I found her. She’s alive.” The plastic spoon doesn’t make a sound as it falls out of Jiho’s hand onto the carpeted floor, but there’s no need for it. Her face says more than the sound would.

* * *

_ “How long do we have?” Someone asked.  _

_ “Like ten minutes?” Another voice called back. Jiho was in the kitchen, helping to pour out drinks. _

_ “We buy champagne once a year,” Jiho said, a mischievous grin on her face. “And you have no idea how to open the damn thing.”  Her companion let out a whine, inspecting the top of the bottle. _

_ “This one’s weird and I always end up hitting myself in the face with the cork or the bottle every time,” she complained. _

_ “That’s the highlight of every year,” Jiho laughed again. “Watching you make a fool of yourself. You always get it in just under the wire.” The girl tried to glare at Jiho, but it came off more comical than terrifying. _

_ “You do it,” she said, shoving the bottle into Jiho’s hands and stepping back. Jiho laughed, grabbing the towel that was draped in between the refrigerator handle and using it to help open up the bottle. She made easy work of it, starting to pour it into the plastic champagne glasses they’d bought. _

_ “Seven minutes!” Yoobin called from the other room. “You two better not miss it!” Her comment was followed by laughter, before her voice was swallowed up in conversation. _

_ “I hate this wall,” the girl mumbled. “Why do we have to stare at a concrete wall painted white? Kitchen’s should have window views not wall views. It’s ridiculous.” _

_ “Hey, you were the one who found the apartment, Ms. Mimi.” Jiho was teasing her again. Mimi just let out a quiet whine of disapproval. _

_ “I’m going to paint over it,” Mimi said. _

_ “Is that your resolution for the year?” Jiho asked with a sly grin. Mimi was notorious for forgotten New Year Resolutions. There was always a bet on how long she’d survive. The longest was running and that was only for a month before she quit (mentally she quit during week one, but she didn’t figure out how to block Shiah’s number until a few weeks later. The two didn’t speak for a month simply because Mimi was too afraid of being asked to run). _

_ “No,” Mimi said, giving Jiho a large smile. “It’ll be your birthday present.” _

_ “My birthday’s in four months,” Jiho said with a laugh. _

_ “Early birthday present. Plus I’ll get you something on your actual birthday,” Mimi said proudly. She seemed so sure of it that Jiho didn’t want to doubt her, but she had a feeling the rest of them would be taking bets on whether or not it would really happen when they found out about the idea. _

_ “Five minutes!” Binnie shouted again. _

_ "Shut up and get your own damn champagne!” Jiho shouted back. “What the hell do we look like, waiters?” _

_ "I am a waiter,” Mimi said, offended. “Excuse yourself.” _

_ “Then bring everyone their drinks,” Jiho said with a final grin, waltzing out of the room to the sound of Mimi complaining. _

_ Jiho hadn’t anticipated two weeks later coming home to the kitchen off limits, Mimi hard at work looking at color palettes. The image she painted was a little cheesy, the wall was meant to look like it gave a view of outside, but Mimi worked hard on it, and the three roommates were grateful for the change from solid white concrete while in the kitchen. Mimi never brought up that it was a birthday present to Jiho for anyone, even Jiho. When she got Jiho her actual birthday present, a simple necklace, she’d left a small note.  _ You should have bet on that one _ , it said. Jiho didn’t have the heart to tell her she didn’t even last three days on her resolution to cut down on chocolate, and that Jiho won 30 dollars because of it. _


	2. Chapter 2

“Where did you find out my workplace?” Jiho leaned back in her chair, a to-go cup of coffee in front of her. Yoobin had thought that her simple statement would be enough, but Kim Jiho wasn’t one to let someone in that easy.

“I called your parents,” Yoobin said, shrugging. Jiho frowned. Her parents knew less than a fifth of the whole matter, so it would have been easy for Yoobin to lie, say she and Jiho had been in contact but hadn’t mentioned work, that Yoobin had wanted to surprise her.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh well I just called up asking if you-”

“She’s alive?” Jiho had to wonder. Maybe Yoobin just wanted to talk to her and this was an excuse to start it. Maybe she’d finally decided that half the stuff in the apartment was hers and she wanted her dues. Maybe she was here to murder Jiho--she always figured she’d fall to Yoobin’s hands.

“I moved around a lot, after I moved out from our place,” Yoobin said, taking a large drink from her coffee before continuing. “I ended up moving in with the other four for a little while, after everyone but Hyojung had moved out. I stayed in the place after she did as well. There was a letter delivered there, addressed to nobody.” Jiho gave a confused look. “I thought it was for me, because I live there.” She paused, waiting for Jiho to make a quip about her sentence structure, but Jiho just stared at her. “Anyway, just look at it yourself.” Yoobin handed her an envelope. There was no return address and it was marked with the simple recipient of “The Residents of Apartment 365.” The handwriting was unmistakable.

Jiho pushed the folds of the already open envelope aside, pulling out the two letters inside. “One of them is typed, but look at the handwritten one.” Jiho located it because it was written on lined paper, folded in thirds. Her heart was pounding out of her head. There was possibility and hope; she hadn’t felt this way in so long.

She stared at the letter a moment, eyes scanning the words hungrily, before her expression darkened and she smacked the letter onto the table with her hand. “What the hell is this?”

“I know, I know, but look at the handwriting. It’s hers for sure.”

“And you mean to say that Mihyun’s been alive and decides, after all this time, to send an unmarked letter to the  _ other  _ apartment telling us ‘r sfev znn rb jvnn’? Are you fucking stupid?”

“I think-”

“Jesus. You know I really thought for a minute you were smart about something, but even after all this time you come with this crap pretending it’s something!”

“Can you just-”

“You really made me fall for it, dramatically coming into my workplace, saying ‘she’s alive’ when you’re so full of-”

“Jiho!” Yoobin grabbed the envelope, slapping Jiho’s hand from the other letter and pushing it towards the girl. “Look at the damn letter again.”

“I get that it looks like Mihyun’s handwriting but Christ Yoobin, anyone can mimic her handwriting. It’s gibberish, and quite frankly it proves nothing.”

“There are periods.” Jiho stared at Yoobin. In all the time they’d known each other, Yoobin had never seemed quite so insane. And Yoobin once convinced Jiho they were being haunted by the ghost of William Shakespeare. “This isn’t a random string of letters.”

“I think r sfev znn is a random string of letters.”

“Jiho. It’s a code.”

* * *

_ Jiho and Yoobin met in an introductory class in their first year of college. Jiho was majoring in Chemistry and Pre-law and Yoobin majored in journalism. Tragically their majors didn’t save them from the horrors of intro world lit classes. They didn’t sit in next to each other, or share any of the same friends, but they were cursed with an impossible fate: they were both obnoxiously argumentative.  _

_ The first time they argued in class it was over a real disagreement. Jiho truly doesn’t remember the topic at all; even if she did it’s impossible to say what a young, bright eyed, eighteen year old Jiho would think on the topic compared to the current Jiho. Nonetheless, wherever she stood, she found Yoobin in the opposite camp. _

_ Their first argument was so demure compared to the rest (no it wasn’t, eighteen year old Jiho opened with “wow that’s a stupid idea” and the whole thing snowballed). Jiho’s friends in the class informed her after that she most certainly lost the argument (“arguing by commenting on how weird her ears are is not how you win an argument” one friend remarked), leading Jiho to immediately counter Yoobin the next time the poor freshman gave an opinion in class. Jiho had honor, and some stupid literature student wasn’t about to tarnish it with her grammatically well-structured opinions. _

_ Jiho and Yoobin were, however, both equal in their previously unrivaled skill of taking everything too far. Their professor had pulled them aside one day, informing them if they didn’t learn how to get along that he would fail them both and they’d have to retake the class next semester. And it was in this moment the immovable object met the unstoppable force: would they fail the class or would they learn to get along, at least for the duration of class. _

_ They got along, marginally, until Yoobin forced herself in front of Jiho one night in the dining hall, pulling out a piece of paper and immediately opening with “your opinions on the Treatise of Paris are abhorrent, implausible, and downright preposterous.” And so their friendship began, two hard-headed idiots arguing about class in the dining hall. _

* * *

“I’m not doing that,” Jiho said, glaring. 

“Yes you are.” 

“We both cut them out you can’t just-” 

“Jiho everyone was growing distant they’re not going to-”

“Not to mention I mean who’s going to believe you  _ I _ don’t even believe you-”

“How hard is it for you to just trust me?” Very hard, considering Jiho hadn’t seen Yoobin in a few years at this point. They weren’t the people the were before--Jiho wasn’t the person she was before.

Her coffee had cooled now. There was no way she was going to bother drinking it; she’d never really liked it anyway. Mihyun had liked coffee.

* * *

_ “It’s a Saturday, _ ”  _ Jiho groaned, rubbing her eyes. “I wanted to sleep until noon before I suffered.” _

_ “Just be quiet,” Mimi said, slapping Jiho on the arm. “It’s nine and there’s already going to be a line at this point because I let you sleep in.” _

_ “Why did you wake only me up?” _

_ “I tried to wake Binnie up but she rolled over and gave me this- this  _ look _ and I just knew it was hopeless you know, that she’d never appreciate it like you would.” _

_ “You were scared for your life?” _

_ “I’m going to hide behind you when we get back.” Jiho laughed. It was the first weekend after her and Binnie had moved in. Mimi had rented the apartment with a few friends of hers, but varying factors caused the three girls to drop out. Jiho and Binnie were the first to people to respond to her ad, followed by a girl who hid in her room most of the day and only came out to take the rest of their food and never pay them back (Mimi said something about her name but Jiho missed it and stopped caring about the girl after she took the last of Jiho’s Oreos). _

_ “What’s so exciting about this place anyway?” Jiho asked, surveying the street around them. She had on a light coat; it wasn’t cold yet, but she needed it to hold her wallet and it was cool enough that she could get away with it. _

_ “It’s got the best coffee around. Like everyone in school knows it, how don’t you?” _

_ “Probably because coffee tastes like bitter death,” Jiho said, watching a young girl across the street walk with her mom. Mimi gave some sort of strangled indignant gasp, grabbing Jiho’s arm to stop her from walking. She turned Jiho so they were facing each other, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. _

_ “Have you never tried a cafe mocha?” She asked seriously. _

_ “The chocolate doesn’t help as much as you seem to think it does. It still tastes like death.” _

_ “Sure,” Mimi grumbled. “Insult my two favorite things why don’t you.” _

_ “Coffee and  _ chocolate _ are your two favorite things? Are you okay?” Mimi let one hand slide off of Jiho’s shoulder, the other one patting Jiho lightly on the cheek. _

_ “You’ll be changing your tune when you try this place’s coffee. It’s to die for.” _

* * *

“What are you even suggesting we do?” Jiho asked, eyebrows still furrowed in annoyance. “We can’t read this even if it is a code.”

“That’s where this other letter comes in,” Yoobin said, taking the larger piece of paper and unfolding it. She held it out gingerly to Jiho. Jiho read quietly, trying not to be as annoyed with the gibberish as last time.

**Terra,**

**V guvax- ab, V xabj gung guvf vf cebonoyl abg jung lbh jnag gb urne, ohg guvatf ner abg terng. Wvub naq Ovaavr unir ragveryl frcnengrq gurzfryirf sebz hf, naq jr nera’g fher ubj zhpu ybatre gurl’er tbvat gb or gbtrgure. Neva zbirq va urer n srj zbaguf ntb, ohg ure cneragf ner gnyxvat nobhg fpubby ntnva naq fur’f tbvat gb or tenqhngvat fbba. Gurl jnag ure gb zbir onpx ubzr naq V guvax jvgu rirelguvat gung’f unccrarq fur’f tbvat gb. V jvfu guvf unq abg unccrarq. Gurfr guvatf jbhyq fgvyy unccra jvgu lbh urer, ohg jr unaqyr guvatf orggre gbtrgure.**

**Lryybj**

 

“You know exactly what I’m going to say,” Jiho said, frowning at Yoobin.

“I do, but I have something else,” Yoobin said, fishing her phone out from her bag. She unlocked it, opening something and pushing it towards Jiho. “I googled a bit on codes and stuff--ciphers, I guess they’re called. I was just plugging the letter into a bunch and I came out with this.”

 

**Green,**

**I think- no, I know that this is probably not what you want to hear, but things are not great. Jiho and Binnie have entirely separated themselves from us, and we aren’t sure how much longer they’re going to be together. Arin moved in here a few months ago, but her parents are talking about school again and she’s going to be graduating soon. They want her to move back home and I think with everything that’s happened she’s going to. I wish this had not happened. These things would still happen with you here, but we handle things better together.**

**Yellow**

 

“Who the Hell is ‘Yellow’?”

“I have no idea, but do you realize what this means?” Yoobin said, leaning forward towards Jiho, an excited glint in her eyes. It reminded Jiho of university again, when Yoobin would decide on some heinous research project and string Jiho along, always with that same glint; it was the look Yoobin gave when she knew she could succeed.

“That someone is writing code letters shit-talking us,” Jiho said.

“It means someone can translate this letter,” Yoobin said, grinning. “It means someone knows, or at least knew at one point recently, where Mimi is.”

“So what? We go and find everyone and then one of them just goes ‘oh well I actually knew where Mihyun was the whole time and here it was haha sorry.’”

“Well, yeah. That’s exactly it.”

“I’m not doing it. It won’t work.”

“You are doing it.” Yoobin still had that stupid look in her eye. “Arin agrees with me.”

Jiho was screwed. She looked down at the letter, Mihyun’s letter. Why was she here again, strung along by Yoobin. Her hands traced the letters slowly, scanning the page, trying to discern any of the words individually, like she could miraculously translate them.

 

**R SFEV ZNN RB JVNN. R ZL HVCI ARCVW YOA BOXS RB NRUV. ASRGTB AFFP Z AOCG UFC ASV JFCBV ZGW BFLVARLVB R JFGWVC RU R BSFONW SZHV BAZIVW FC NVUA. ZAAZXSVW RB IFOC NVAAVC YZXP. IFO BZRW BFLVASRGT ZYFOA LFHRGT. ENVZBV BVGW IFOC GVJ UFCJZCWRGT ZWWCVBB ZBZE.**

**ZB ZNJZIB,**

**LRSIOG**

* * *

_ Arin rubbed Jiho’s back slowly, the two seated on the couch together. Binnie was pacing while simultaneously trying to shake her hair out of her head. Jiho’s cell phone rang again, and Arin grabbed it before Jiho could, answering and putting it up to her ear. _

_ “Now’s not a good time,” was the first thing she said. She listened to the person on the other line, biting her lip while she did. “We know as much as you guys do.” Pause. “All her stuff is still here.” Another pause. “We’ve tried calling thirty times on Jiho’s line alone. I’ll call- Listen. I’ll call you back.” _

_ Mimi had left at two in the afternoon a few days ago, claiming a last minute shopping trip before she made dinner that night. They hadn’t thought much of it, until Jiho came home from class with a shopping bag. It was her night to cook dinner, and Mimi still hadn’t returned. They’d left it alone, thinking she was with friends, or else lost--it had happened before. _

_ Jiho had been on edge the whole time, and at noon of the next day she finally tried Mimi’s cell. The first few times the phone was simply off, but by the night of that day the call was being made to an out-of-service number. Her phone was completely gone. When Hyejin had come over a few hours later, just to hang out like she normally did on Tuesdays, the two finally came to the conclusion that they would try and contact people Mimi was friends with. Someone had to know where she was, or else they would be calling the police. _

_ They started with classmates and friends, none of whom had seen Mimi since school that Friday. With each phone call made on the couch Jiho became more fidgety and restless. Her leg bumped up and down. Mimi was a fool, but she knew to keep in contact. She wouldn’t disconnect her phone. _

_ Hyejin finally mentioned that she had Mimi’s home phone number, the two now prompted to call it. Jiho remembered the look on Hyejin’s face as she talked to someone from Mimi’s home (later she found out it was Mimi’s mother). She remembered the way Hyejin’s hand fell slowly after the call ended, her cellphone ending up in her lap. She remembered the way Hyejin said it, staring blankly through the coffee table. A few days later while pacing Binnie would doubt the story, doubt Hyejin, doubt the possibility when it made no sense and was too unbearable, but Hyejin had heard it, and Hyejin had said it. “Mimi’s dead.” _

_ She left a room full of things and an apartment full of memories; a place full of people who paced the next days, trying to make sense of a home left empty. _

_ “How can she be dead,” Binnie had said while pacing, messing up her own hair as though it would make sense of it. “She can’t have died. Where did she die and how? It doesn’t make sense.” _

_ “Are you saying Hyejin lied?” Arin asked, focused on Jiho. _

_ “I’m saying someone did. Maybe Mimi’s mom! Did they get along?” _

_ “They used to talk on the phone for hours every weekend, you know that,” Arin said. _

_ “Maybe they’ve convinced Mimi’s mom that she’s dead,” Binnie said, watching the window as she paced. _

_ “Who has?” _

_ “I don’t know, the mafia, or like, the aliens or something-” _

_ “She’s dead,” Jiho croaked out. She had been crying, they all had. But Jiho hadn’t stopped. “Binnie she’s just- she’s dead.” _

_ “She can’t be.” It was not the ideal situation for a famed Binnie and Jiho argument, but Arin had started to feel one bubble. “She just can’t be dead.” _

_ "She’s dead.” Jiho left the room after that. If Arin truly wanted to be poetic, she would say it was the last time any of them spoke with Jiho. After that night Jiho barely spoke more than ten words at a time. Even when she did there was something missing in her words. Arin had said it to Binnie the day she moved out, despite Binnie arguing for her to stay: Jiho died the day Mimi did.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when you start a story based on one line of one song that's not even a sad line of a sad song and you're having fun with like a semi-serious story and are like "I should kill off one of my all time favorite people" me too that one gets a solid Lyke on the phasebuk machine


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this has been sitting in my files for a while :-)

Along the street students are moving quickly. The hospital many students work at is located across the street from the classroom buildings. Students dressed in scrubs and street clothing (and a few in suits, which only cause Jiho to shudder over her undergraduate days).

Jiho remembers this place, from years ago. A friend of hers had ended up here for grad school. She forgets now, what the girl went for, but she remembers visiting here when the girl, a bit older than her, had applied, gushing over the students in scrubs entering the medical building.

Jiho sucked in a breath of cool October air, calming down her mind and crossing the street.

Arin has an office, apparently. It was shared, between multiple grad students in her program, but nonetheless a small piece of paper was tucked into the plaque on the door, with her name and office hours printed on it. Jiho remembers how Binnie taught classes, an introductory creative writing class, during her first year of graduate school, the last year they lived together.

The girl who answers the door when Jiho knocks sends her into a panic. Jiho doesn’t recognize her, but the girl takes less than a second before recognition washes over her face. Jiho knew time had passed, but she hadn’t expected Arin to have changed so much until the girl twists her body a little, calling “Yewon,” softly into the room behind her.

The girl smiles softly at Jiho, opening the door wider and retreating back into the room.

Arin looks more like Arin, but she still grips Jiho with a slight panic and a strong desire to look into a mirror again, to make sure she doesn’t look so shockingly unlike what she remembers.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses now,” Jiho said weakly, by way of greeting. Arin offers a small smile, and Jiho felt her fears of seeing her again fade away.

It was then that Arin slapped her arm.

It was then that Arin started yelling.

* * *

 

_ Their TV got stolen, by the girl who’d hid in her room the whole time they lived with her. When Binnie and Jiho finally came to Mimi with their suspicion of the girl, Mimi, who’d otherwise tried to be supportive and nice to their fourth roommate, answered only with a mumbled “figures.” _

_ They were left in the unfortunate position of having to find a fourth roommate again. The apartment would be cheap if they were adults, or working full time. But for three kids masquerading as adults and pretending they had enough time to work good jobs, the cost was a bit much. _

_ Choi Yewon was quiet and awkward, and they weren’t sure how young she was. After they interviewed her, a mock little thing they did just to see how well they’d get along (Mimi refused to just let the first person to respond to their ad sign, citing they would have no repeats of what happened with the last roommate). _

_ Yewon skipped a grade, sometime in early elementary school, and was working to graduate a year early and go to med school. _

_ Her parents orders. _

_ Mimi took a liking to her immediately. _

_ She moved in before the end of the month, picking up the rent inexplicably. Yewon didn’t work.  _ _ She stuck to herself for the most part in the beginning, studying in her room late into the night, only pausing to go to the bathroom and eat dinner. Jiho and Binnie wondered if Mimi had made a mistake. Binnie joked that it was Mimi’s type, quiet recluses. Jiho slapped her. _

_ Mimi found the truth of Yewon’s situation out first, but kept it to herself. Jiho wondered if this had also happened to the last roommate, but as Mimi later told her: “she was really just kind of a, well, you know.” _

_ “Bitch?” _

_ “Yeah, that.” _

_ What Jiho later found out to be true was that Yewon was not happy. Her parents were something that horrified Jiho: Parents with high expectations. _

_ Skip a year of undergrad, go to grad school, contribute to society. When Jiho finally got Mimi to crack and tell her, it changed everything. The late nights and almost anti-social behavior: Yewon had no idea what to do with freedom, and so continued on the only path she knew. _

_ A week after Jiho found out, she was left alone in the dorm for a weekend; save Yewon. The girl was herself, keeping to her room, completely unaware she was alone with Jiho. She left the room around seven, finally, curiously peeking into every room until she made it into the living room, jumping when she found Jiho sitting there. _

_ “Are you trying to rob us?” Jiho asked, giving her a serious look. “Because our last roommate tried to and we don’t take lightly to it.” _

_ Yewon shook her head profusely, quickly letting out a stream of sentence starters she didn’t seem able to finish. “No- It’s not- I’m not-” Jiho’s gaze immediately softened. She was an off-putting person, she knew, and usually her jokes were misinterpreted for serious statements. Yewon was too young, she didn’t deserve this. _

_ “They’re out,” Jiho said, placing a sticky note in her textbook and closing it. She had been curled up on the couch, trying to get done some reading on marketing research. “Mimi’s home with family and Binnie’s sleeping over a friend’s house. She’s doing some expose for the school newspaper on some real shitty budget restructuring the university is doing. She’s not sleeping and I’m certain there’s a corkboard and red string involved.” _

_ “Oh.” _

_ “What are you in the mood for?” _

_ “What?” _

_ “It’s just the two of us. I’m abhorrent,” Jiho said dramatically, placing a hand on her chest. She doesn’t know how to talk to people. Mimi was too relentlessly nice (and too chill to actually get upset with Jiho), but very few people actually manage to get past her contentious exterior. “And unless you’re secretly a cooking prodigy, which I’m assuming you aren’t because you never volunteer to cook, we’re going to have to order out. So what are you in the mood for?” Yewon fumbles over her words, mumbling something about how anything was fine by her. _

_ Within two weeks, Yewon will be able to form a full sentence around Jiho with minimal stuttering. Within a month Yewon will become a chatterbox around Jiho, the second the two see each other Yewon goes off about something she learned in her chemistry class—Jiho normally couldn’t care less, but it’s Yewon. _

_ They settle on pizza. _

_ Two weekends later Jiho invites Yewon to go out with her. Yewon tries to refuse, but Jiho is adamant and they two end up spending a Saturday afternoon together. Jiho learns two things: one is that Yewon is not a great singer, and the other is that Yewon is her favorite person to go to karaoke with. They’re both pretty terrible singers, actually, which is what makes Yewon such a great person to do karaoke with. Binnie was a great singer and Mimi had a deceptively good singing voice, if you were asking Jiho (you wouldn’t ask Jiho, because she would just get flustered and stumble over her words trying to refuse to answer. You’re Binnie, and you ask this question any time she gets annoying, if it weren’t obvious). _

_ Yewon brought up she enjoyed it first, which was a relief to Jiho. Yewon mentioned something about a girl she was friends with in high school who was something of an amazing singer, and how any time she would go to karaoke with her she would just end up feeling disappointed in herself. It was then that Yewon tried to explain that she wasn’t trying to say Jiho was a bad singer, until Jiho cut her off, citing something about how she could only be famous for her looks. _

_ Months later Jiho met Yewon’s friend, the good singer, and it was then she was introduced to the idea of calling her Arin. She doesn’t remember how the nickname Arin stuck, probably because Arin responded so positively to the name. It was probably something subconscious they were all secretly aware of. Yewon was her parents’ daughter, studious, hardworking, reclusive. _

_ Arin was her own person. Arin was full of little rebellions. _

* * *

“I thought Yoobin would let you know I was coming,” Jiho said, her gaze stuck on the table. She looked akin to a scolded puppy right now.

“Oh, Binnie  _ did _ let me know you would be on your way,” Arin said, glaring at her. They had relocated to a coffeeshop. Jiho had to wonder why they kept taking her to these places, as if they didn’t know she hated the taste of coffee. “Did you think that it would be enough time for me to just get over it?”

“I was hoping.”

“You’re stupid.”

“I know.”

Arin let out a long sigh, rubbing her temple.

“You don’t actually believe this shit, do you?” Jiho was still staring at the table. She didn’t have it in herself to look at Arin. She hadn’t even wanted to face her again, Yoobin had forced her to.

“At one point I heard from the other apartment that Mimi had been in a car accident. Dead on impact.” Jiho winced. “She’d just been crossing a street or something and—wham.”

“Stop.”

“I went and looked at records,” Arin continued, ignoring her. “I had to know. How she’d died, where. I just had to know something. Catharsis, I guess. Closure.” Arin paused. Maybe she thought Jiho was going to be herself. Maybe she thought Jiho moved on some. She was being foolish, they both knew. “Any accidents and deaths that day were identified. Nobody who died was a John Doe—and nobody who died was Mimi.”

“If you’re going to do this,” Arin continued, realizing Jiho wasn’t going to say anything of substance. “You need to be all in. Binnie and I have been looking at stuff for months. We didn’t just come to you at the first sign that she might not be dead.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Her dying doesn’t make sense, Jiho. The numbers don’t add up. She would have had to be in town—in the region, at least. There would have had to have been some report of how she died. It would have been somewhere.”

“Maybe her parents didn’t want it to be public.”

“We should have been invited to a funeral.”

“They wanted family only.”

“They knew we were her family here, and they’re good people. They would have at least invited us.”

“You can’t expect me to get my hopes up like this.” Jiho finally looked up. Arin had certainly grown up. She still looked like herself, for certain, but there was something in the look in her eyes, the way she held herself. The small, timid girl Jiho met was replaced with someone confident, self-assured. The girl in Arin’s office had called her Yewon, and Jiho wondered if it was because that was the name on transcripts or if Arin had finally grown out of needing a second identity with which to be herself, grown into her name.

“They aren’t going to listen to Binnie and I.” Jiho’s reserve always crumbled around Arin because she wanted the girl to feel comfortable. Now she didn’t stand a chance for the very reason she strove for; Arin knew Jiho couldn’t say no. Arin knew she had facts and logic to break what Jiho believed to be an unalienable truth. “They’ll listen to you.” There was nothing Jiho could do to stop being wrapped up in this. “Doesn’t this all just feel like we’re trying to put your life back together again?”

“I was fine where I was.”

Arin lets out a snort as a laugh. “Binnie already told me what the apartment looks like, so let’s not joke around like that.” Jiho said nothing. “Don’t think self-important thoughts, though. This isn’t for you. It’s for Binnie and me as well. You just so happen to be the only person people will listen to.” The piece of paper Arin slid towards Jiho was torn from a notebook. Arin chews her fingernails still, Jiho has just discovered. Probably a side-effect of the nerves from school. Jiho doesn’t judge her. “We only have her contact information, but she should know where the other three are.”

Jiho just stared at the paper. “Do whatever you want.” Arin said. “But she won’t return our calls.”

Jiho is left alone in the coffeeshop, just like Yoobin left her. If Jiho were being poetic she would say that she’s been left alone by all of them. They moved forward while she remained stagnant, unable to move. But Jiho is not stupid or poetic, and so she doesn’t say that. She folds the paper carefully into her pocket, throws out her untouched coffee, and leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eyes in the dark  
> And it has occurred to me  
> That I have spent my whole life  
> Starting over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably won't update again until after the semester is over bc i'm severely depressed lov u guys yeet

_ “Don’t you think you should just buy a pack from the store instead of suffering like this?” Binnie asked snidely, grabbing a drink from the fridge. Jiho had been bent over the bowl in front of her for a good three hours, already on her sixth attempt at making cookies. She really should quit, if she was being honest, but there was some delusional part of her that was telling her that no, she could do it, just keep going.  _

_ Jiho doesn’t have an overly large sweet tooth. That being said, Jiho doesn’t have an overly small sweet tooth either. She’s more of the “i’ll eat anything in front of me” kind of person. But Mimi, on the other hand, had a large sweet tooth. And Mimi wasn’t able to go home over break because she was working and she a routine doctor appointment or something (she said she’d switched to a doctor over here for some reason or another. Probably because she lived her most months of the year and she didn’t want to waste a day she was home at the doctor). _

_ Jiho was a mess, trying to make Mimi feel at home, trying to bake chocolate chip cookies from scratch, failing at the recipe she’d managed to wrangle out of Mimi’s mother. She’d already suffered enough over these cookies, trying to figure out what the hell anything on the recipe meant, specifically involving if they had anything that allowed for “sifting” and spending a good thirty minutes with Arin combing through every aisle of a grocery store, really just not understanding what baking soda was, and then having to shamefully ask a store representative to help them. _

_ This is not an apartment that does much with regards to the culinary arts, and it was starting to show. _

_ Jiho should have had an hour until Mimi’s shift let out, then another thirty minutes while Mimi got takeout from her restaurant and returned home. Instead she heard the door opening early along with the rustling of the plastic bag holding the takeout, and the sound of Mimi’s voice making fun of the position Binnie was lying in on the couch. She didn’t even have time to hide the evidence. Jiho was prepared to hang her head in shame and receive the teasing she probably deserved. As if Binnie hadn’t already given her more than enough. _

_ “What are you doing?” Mimi set down the bag on the other side of the room from Jiho, moving to the girl and resting her chin on Jiho’s shoulder. _

_ “I wanted some cookies so I decided to try and make them.” Jiho prided herself in one thing, and that was how she pretended to be such a bad liar that, when she actually had to lie properly, everyone believed her. _

_ “Why didn’t you just buy some?” _

_ “I wanted homemade ones. You know, nostalgia and stuff,” Jiho said with a shrug. Mimi made a noise and Jiho’s shrug, lifting her chin from Jiho’s shoulder. _

_ “I thought you said your mom didn’t cook or whatever?” _

_ Jiho froze, backed into a corner for only a moment. “It’s my grandparents recipe, that’s all.” _

_ Mimi hummed for a moment, eyes scanning the paper Jiho was reading the recipe from. “Do you want help?” She asked. _

_ Jiho should say no, considering that the cookies are for Mimi and not herself and it would be foolish to make Mimi help create something that was supposed to be a present for herself, not to mention this would be an absolutely fatal dent in Jiho’s already low cooking self-esteem, but Mimi had also already rolled up the sleeves to the black dress shirt that was the restaurant’s uniform, looking at the mess Jiho had made in the bowl and dumping it into the trash almost immediately. Jiho had said “sure” without realizing it. _

_ Cooking with Mimi was a reminder of why most of them didn’t cook. She seemed to have enough know-how in the kitchen, at least for a college student. And sure they were making cookies which weren’t healthy and thus that explains  _ why _ Mimi was good at making them, but for Jiho, who never cooks, it reminded her why, no matter who’s job it was to cook that day, Mimi would still be in the kitchen, helping out and directing. _

_ About an hour later, enough time for the cookies to cool down, Mimi came into the living room where Jiho was lying on the couch with one, informing her they were ready for consumption. _

_ “Ah, the feeling’s passed. You can eat them,” Jiho said, and the way Mimi’s eyes lit up was worth it, even though she could hear Binnie snickering from the seat beside her. Binnie thought she was a big loser, but really Jiho felt like the winner. She’d (kinda) made Mimi cookies. Kinda. _

* * *

She wants to go home. Now is the time to abort mission, to return to her apartment and be done with it. Okay Yewon, Yoobin, she’d gotten her wakeup call, gotten what she’d needed, and she’d go fix the apartment. She’d paint the walls green.

No, not green. Mihyun loved green.

Jiho didn’t leave. She instead slid up to the bar, took a seat on the old leather stool, and ordered a drink.

This was where Mihyun took Jiho for her first legal drink.

* * *

_ “Are you really going to go through the whole bit here?” Jiho asked, annoyed. _

_ “This is a right of passage. Already turned 21 and it’s time for your first legal drink!” _

_ “Do I have to talk about how everyone in the apartment was drunk just last weekend?” _

_ “Hush! They are all underage and they would certainly not be illegally consuming such things!” Why was Mimi like this? Why was Jiho dragged along? Well, because Jiho had just turned 21 and Mimi insisted and Jiho, no matter how hard she tried, really couldn’t say no. _

_ “But why here?” _

_ Mimi shrugged. “It’s where I took Seunghee for her first legal drink. It’s just a sort of right of passage or something. A tradition.” _

_ She ordered whiskey, because this wasn’t a club or anywhere someone would go to party. It was an old sports bar, more of a local haunt, and even then. They weren’t going to be able to get anything that actually appealed to Jiho, who wasn’t much of a drinker anyway, but it was more about the occasion than about drinking, much less drinking anything worthwhile or enjoyable. Jiho let Mimi have her Momentous Occasion without much hassle, only truly fussing when Mimi tried desperately to take care of the bill, claiming it was her right since it was Jiho’s birthday. _

_ Such was life with Mimi around. _

* * *

She was the one playing the piano. Another girl was singing, which Jiho frowned at, but she was on stage, at least.

Seunghee found her after the performance, a quiet thing of what should have been sultry jazz, if only the vocalist could stay on key. Jiho noticed, and she saw the way Seunghee’s eyebrow would quirk. Seunghee noticed too.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” Seunghee said by way of greeting.

“I didn’t think I would either.” There’s a pause.

“So, have they explained the whole conspiracy to you or are they letting you piece it together?”

“They’ve said all of it.”

“They tried that with me, said something about letters and numbers adding up and other bullshit.” Seunghee wasn’t what Jiho remembered. Seunghee was not crass or rude. “Smarted up when they wanted to talk to Hyojung, but I refused it.”

“I saw the letters and all,” Jiho said, and Seunghee let out a laugh.

“Figures.” They sit in silence, and the bartender gives Seunghee her drink. She drinks, but there are no words.

* * *

_ “That is right, ladies and other ladies!” The front door to their apartment is flung open without warning, before Arin has moved in, and the person standing there is decidedly unfamiliar to Jiho.  _

_ “Whom?” Binnie asks from next to Jiho, the two of them sitting side by side on the couch near the door, trying to get some studying in for their exams. _

_ “Oh right, forgot about the new roommates or whatever,” the girl said, moving in more and closing the door. “The name’s Hyun Seunghee. You may have heard of me, future Queen of Pop in your midst.” _

_ “Are you.” Jiho paused uncertainly. “Mimi’s friend?” _

_ “Her best friend, of course. Me and The Great Mimi go way back. Is she around?” _

_ “She’s at work,” Binnie answered. Seunghee sighed, seeming to lose two inches to her height as she let herself slump down. She tossed her back across the room lazily, so it slid up against one of the walls, flopping down into a chair adjacent to the couch. _

_ “That jerk,” she said simply. _

_ “Did she forget to tell you?” _

_ “No, she said not to come around because she’d be at work. I thought she was lying.” _

_ This was Jiho’s first interaction with Seunghee, who very quickly became one of the funniest people Jiho knew. She was the year between Jiho and Mimi, a music performance major who spent the majority of her time in the fine arts building or the dining hall. Jiho had seen her in the library a handful of times, usually to make copies or to take advantage of the library’s collection of old music scores. _

* * *

“So?” Seunghee says finally.

“So?” Jiho parrots.

“How did they convince you? The letters couldn’t have been that convincing, and we all know you’re the one who wanted to forget us all.”

Jiho frowned and shrugged and the back of her brain told her that Seunghee’s words, true as they may be, still stung her. Maybe that was the point. “Closure,” she said simply. Seunghee hummed. Took another shot. She smelled like alcohol before she sat down. She was different.

“Nobody’s happy,” Seunghee said, staring blankly into space. “YooA’s got some office job, and all she shares on Facebook are those Tipsy Bartender videos--no surprise there.” Jiho didn’t know how to tell Seunghee how drunk she was. “Hyojung’s doing some line cook job, god bless her soul. She never graduated, somehow. Arin’s acting like the world is bowing before her, but  _ God _ , I bet those phone calls with her parents are still as bad as they were. Binnie’s Starbucks’ employee of the month, and to Hell if I know where Hyejin is; probably put herself in a coma for the Hell of it.”

“What happened to you?”

Seunghee pointed at Jiho’s drink. “You haven’t touched this. You gotta. It’s good to cry.”

“What happened to you?” Jiho repeated.

“I got scammed.” Jiho put her head in her hands; Seunghee was messing with her. “No, really. Entertainment agency. Good pay, soon debut. I was floored.”

“And?”

“CEO said I had to  sleep with him first. I said no because, honestly, fuck that, and poof! I’m out. And he’s getting all his CEO buddies to put a block on me. Only thing to do is independent, and I couldn’t risk putting the money into it.” Jiho stared at her drink. “Life doesn’t always go your way, but it goes some way and I’m taking it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not, but that’s fine.” She paused again. Jiho wondered why. Maybe because this was weird and terrible and she forgot why she did this. To get the other apartment members’ contact info, probably. She doesn’t get why though; she doesn’t think Mimi’s alive. But she wants to know where they all are, maybe. “I’m only kind of an alcoholic, you know? Like most people who don’t achieve their dreams are.”

“You have to be an alcoholic to handle that girl’s singing, don’t you?” Seunghee stared at Jiho blankly for a second, her eyes cloudy, before letting out a laugh, growing louder each second.

“How come,” Seunghee said, calming down. “You’re the one who gets hurt the most, but you’re the one who’s still yourself.”

This is when Jiho finally sucks it up at takes a drink. It burns her throat; she’s never been overly fond of alcohol.

“I don’t have what you want,” Seunghee said. “I didn’t send those letters. Mimi’s dead as a doorknob.”

“I know she is.”

Seunghee snorts. “Then why are you here?”

There’s some noise on the stage, that the guitarist is resetting his small amp and the drummer is putting his cymbals back on their stands, a sign that it’s time for Seunghee to go up and begin round two. She waits for Jiho to respond first.

“Maybe seven is enough.”

Seven will never be enough, but sometimes there is nothing else left to do but hope.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :-) how is it going My Guys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me kno how ur feelin abt this whole disaster my guys

Seunghee gave Jiho nothing, but that didn't matter. The two met again, a week later, at the same bar, at the same time, listening to the same vocalist sing the same offkey tunes. She'd been wondering why the hell this girl got the vocal position when, well, Hyun Seunghee, but Seunghee very quickly and aptly showed why, pointing to the vocalist and the owner, who were very clearly not strictly business acquaintances. Maybe it was ironic. "Plus, who would want me anyway?" Seunghee had asked. "A good vocalist in a shitty bar meant for people to drunkenly drown their sorrows? No way in hell." Maybe that was ironic too.

Yoobin had called her after the first day day, asking what she'd found, and Jiho ignored her call, only texting back a few days later saying Seunghee gave nothing. Yoobin had replied, saying that it was okay and that they’d find another way, but Jiho didn’t give a response, and her and Seunghee started meeting up regularly. She didn’t bother inviting Yoobin or Yewon.

* * *

_ How does someone like Hyun Seunghee end up friends with someone like Kim Mihyun? Jiho couldn’t say for certain, except she could say that she so quickly assimilated between them that it seemed at times like it had always been the three of them. It hadn’t, and Jiho could sometimes catch glances Seunghee would give Mimi’s way, a reminder of some inside jokes they seemed to have that Jiho didn’t get, but that was the full of it. _

_ They were the Three Musketeers. To be honest, they were a regular Merry Band of Pranksters, except the kind who actually achieved the whole “no leader transcendence” type of stuff. Each in their own way tied to the lifestyle of causing mayhem for everyone around them (okay, Mimi wasn’t really dedicated like Seunghee and Jiho were, she was more of a “wouldn’t it be funny if…” kind of person, and then Seunghee and Jiho would actually do it, and she’d regret her sense of humor somewhat, but rest easy knowing that, yeah, it would be funny). _

_ Seunghee would spend her Wednesdays there, because she was lazy and her apartment was even further from the school than theirs was. This meant that Seunghee had a front row seat to the eclectic group of people Binnie brought home for school projects. _

_ Jiho hated them, because they were loud but not in a funny way; they weren’t loud to make jokes or anything, they were just annoying. Seunghee and Mimi made it fun. They’d had a game, which they explained they had played for years in the music building, where they’d make up stories about every person who entered. It was a relatively common game, save that it was Mimi and Seunghee playing it. _

_ “When he was twelve,” Seunghee whispered in a hushed voice to the two of them. They were all relegated to the kitchen or their rooms by Binnie, who’d taken the living area to work on the project. “He wanted to create an American brand of quick Italian dining--” _

_ “But his idea became sentient, and betrayed him, setting out to kill the master in a fit of rage,” Mimi added. _

_ “What was the idea?” Jiho asked. _

_ “The Olive Garden,” Mimi said, a somber expression on her face. _

_ “He lives disguised now, outlandishly dressing and covering himself to avoid detection, hidden right in plain sight.” They were mocking a poor boy who was going through his emo or scene phase or something much later in life than most people, i.e. after he graduated high school. “At night he dons a suit in animal likeness to hide from his beast.” _

_ “Why do you have to bring furries into everything?” Mimi whined, giving Seunghee a look. _

_ “I’m situating furries properly within their cultural context.” _

_ “What context is that?” _

_ “Everywhere,” Jiho said, ignoring the upset look Mimi gave Jiho for taking Seunghee’s side on the state of furries in this incredibly real rendition of a man’s life. “Some of the most famous men in history were furries and they deserve their place in history and the classroom.” _

_ Mimi mumbled something, and Jiho had to stifle laughter at the look on her face. _

_ “Hey,” Seunghee said, peeking out the door into the living room. “I think Binnie’s looking at us.” _

_ “Do you think she overheard?” Mimi asked. _

_ “We weren’t really whispering that well,” Jiho said with a shrug. “So probably.” _

_ “We should run and lock ourselves in a room for a few hours, I think.” _

_ “Someone should grab snacks.” _

_ “We can text Arin to do it.” _

_ They ran, and Binnie couldn’t catch them. Such was life with Mimi and Seunghee around. _

* * *

Yewon and Yoobin’s unfaltering belief in the whole thing is starting to get to Jiho, starting to get into her dreams. It’s not helping. She’s so used to waking up to from another repeat of that final week, from memories of the last time she saw Mimi and the phone called with Hyejin in the room, but instead she’s getting non-memories (should she at least be glad they’re real dreams).

She’s not, because you can’t be too happy about things like that. False improvements. Replacing one kind of pain with another.

Sometimes she has dreams that Mimi is here, although those aren’t so abnormal, but now it’s not times before Mimi left, but current times, as if she never left, or maybe that she’d knock on the door one day, with a stupid apologetic smile like the one she gave when she broke the door that one time (Jiho’s still not really sure how it happened).

Other times she’s just an observer, watching Mimi in some other life that she’s built, with a bunch of other friends to call her own. That’s stupid, considering Mimi wasn’t that great at making friends, but Jiho still dreams of it, because it hurts her.

It doesn’t matter what kind of dream it is though, because she’ll still wake up, suddenly and painfully, to a world where everything is exactly the same. Seunghee’s starting to take off the edge, at the very least.

Is that much?

* * *

_ “Are we poppin’ bottles on a Saturday, or naw?” Seunghee asked, entering the apartment with her usual flourish (said flourish being flinging the door open so it hit the wall of the small narrow hallway). _

_ “Or naw,” Binnie replied, bent over the coffee table, Jiho mirroring Binnie, seated next to her. “Finals.” _

_ “That’s a drag, I don’t have any,” Seunghee flopped down in a chair next to them. “Mimi, you wanna party or something?” _

_ “Can’t,” Mimi was in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for god knows what reason. “I have to go back up to school.” _

_ “Aren’t we supposed to be like, useless major buddies or something? Vocal Performance and Studio Art; useless buddies doing useless things?” _

_ Mimi appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the room the three of them were in. “They made me take a non-studio art fine arts class for gen ed requirements. Composition and Applied Music Theory is a hell and a half.” _

_ “Wait,” Binnie looked up from her paper. “You’re a Studio Art major? What the fuck are you going to do with that?” _

_ “Binnie, you’re actually a literature major, you can’t say anything,” Jiho said by way of rebuttal on Mimi’s behalf. Binnie scoffed at Jiho, but took her place as losing this argument, considering Jiho’s business major trumped her severely on the Usefulness Scale. _

_ Arin had exited her room. This was still a somewhat rare occasion, but more common than it had been. _

_ “Yo, Yewonator, you wanna party or something?” Seunghee was desperate at this point, probably. The two didn’t speak much, but Seunghee had taken to giving Arin her own unique nickname, different from the name everyone else called her, by some way of trying to close the awkwardness between them. _

_ Arin froze, looked once between Seunghee sprawled on the chair and Mimi standing with her car keys, before quickly mumbling something about going with Mimi. _

_ “You are?” It was Mimi who said this, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. _

_ “Yes I am, now let’s go.” Arin had pulled Mimi out the door before anybody else could get another word in. _

_ “What the hell was that all about?” Seunghee grumbled. _

_ “Well, Arin probably realized that Jiho’s just been pretending to study for the past fifteen minutes and is about to take you up on that offer.” Jiho balked at the statement, but it was true, which only made her more upset. “Which only means that the two of you are going to get drunk here, and you,” she gives a pointed look to Seunghee. “Are the last person she wants to see, considering the last time the two of you got drunk.” _

_ “What happened the last time we got drunk?” _

_ Binnie looked between the two of them. “Are you seriously asking?” They both gave her blank looks. “Jeez. It was last weekend. Jiho was so intoxicated that Mimi was basically taking care of her the whole night, and Seunghee, you well, you kissed Arin.” _

_ “I what?” _

_ “You kissed her.” _

_ "Oh,” Seunghee stared at the wall in front of her. “That explains, well that explains literally everything.” _

* * *

“For old times’ sake,” Seunghee said, lifting up her shot class. Jiho mirrored with a small smile on her face, quickly taking the shot. She still hated the taste of alcohol, but Seunghee could stand it, so she was just learning to tolerate it again. “I got a second job,” Seunghee said, refilling their glasses. “Working at a nicer restaurant. It’s not with those same people, but it’s just quiet piano music, so it’s not so much of a trade-off as I’d like, but they pay better, plus I might get tips.”

“Like that movie guy,” Jiho said with a chuckle.

“Yeah,” Seunghee grinned. “Like that movie guy. Maybe I’ll even find a cute girl who wants to be a moviestar.” That got a good laugh out of Jiho, but it quickly died down, replaced by a more contemplative look.

“Did you not tell them anything because, you know.” This came up a lot, even though Seunghee wasn’t giving anything away. Jiho would ramble about whatever ridiculous text Yoobin gave about a potential breakthrough in the code of the letters, and the two would mock it. It wasn’t the same lighthearted way they used to, and Jiho wondered sometimes if they could get back to feeling like it was lighthearted, like Yoobin was a friend.

Seunghee paused, staring at the television screen, as though she actually understood what was on it. She had a glassy look in her eyes, like she was somewhere different. “We’re all trying to move on,” she started. “And they’re clinging to this hope so badly. And you’re considering clinging to it as well, and so did I, but then I got thinking about how JinE moved on home, and how Hyojung pushed some life together and how YooA’s dreams changed and I wonder if it’s so right.” Jiho hummed. “If Mimi’s alive she’s got a life going for her I think, and I don’t think we should mess with that, just like she’s not messing with ours.”

They sat in silence, painful silence, broken only on occasion by the movement of their glasses or any small fidgeting Seunghee would do.

“How is she?” Seunghee asked, after a moment. “You saw her, right?”

“She’s doing some postgraduate schooling thing, I had to meet her at an office in a school building.”

“Is she going to be a doctor?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell if someone looks happier when they’re at a school doing some kind of work.” Seunghee laughed. “She seems fine though.”

“We all do, don’t we.”

Jiho tapped her glass with her fingers. She had work the next morning, and she was trying to remember what sorts of pain medication she had to deal with the hangover she was going to deal with. She had to call her parents, just to check in, and Yoobin had started pushing more for them to meet again. There was a work party coming up soon, because someone was retiring. She’d have to put some money in for a gift. They were trying to find a cake shop to order from as well, and she had to help with that.

  
“Yeah, I guess we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT IF THIS WERE A SEUNGHO FIC ALSO SEUNGRIN IS DED


End file.
